


Ready Players

by annabellelux



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (spoiler: Simon's right), Canon Divergence, Love Game Prequel, M/M, Vine discourse, polar opposite opinions on Shakespeare and Vine, shameless snogging in the library, the fine line between fighting and flirting, when the sexual tension finally breaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:28:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabellelux/pseuds/annabellelux
Summary: Love Game:"It was last week. Late night working on a project together for Magical Words in the library. I really couldn’t say how things escalated, but before I knew it we were crowded together in a study carrel snogging."The first time fighting led to snogging for Simon and Baz—get ready players, you're in for the game of your lives.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 23
Kudos: 244





	Ready Players

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarriorBeeoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19800901) by [WarriorBeeoftheSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarriorBeeoftheSea/pseuds/WarriorBeeoftheSea). 



> I wrote this as a gift for the lovely Bee (a fandom angel). It's a prequel to her Love Game series, and she was kind enough to let me share it with all of you. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Simon**

"Simon Snow," Baz snarls, turning from his carrel to sneer at me. "You are the most moronic numpty I have ever had the displeasure of knowing." 

I involuntarily flush at the insult—can't be helped, that—but square my shoulders in a show of defiance. "It was a perfectly reasonable question."

He narrows his eyes at me. "You think asking, at eleven p.m. the night before our project is due, whether we can switch our topic to  _ Vine spells _ is a reasonable question." 

I throw my hands up. "Yes!" I exclaim, not bothering to keep my voice down. Baz and I are working in an abandoned corner of the library, and Baz cast a silencing spell over us after the third time the librarian came over to chastise us for fighting. "I think it'd be really original, and really cool, and, and—" 

"—and absurdly futile," he cuts in. "Spells need to have lasting cultural value. Vines don't have that—they're fleeting and trite." 

"What are you  _ talking _ about?" I gape at him. " _ 'Road work ahead, uh I sure hope it does?'  _ is the best joke of our generation!" 

He sighs like I'm being ridiculous—like he thinks I'm just a whiny child. It boils my blood when he's so dismissive of me. "We've already chosen our topic, Chosen One—" 

_ "You've _ chosen our topic!" I huff. I feel my magic sizzling in my fingertips, the way it always does when Baz gets me going. "And I don't want to do it—it's fucking boring!" 

Baz clutches his copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets to his chest like I've personally offended him. "Shakespeare is not  _ boring _ —his work is beautiful and complex." I scoff at the notion that the mess of Romeo and Juliet's idiotic, suicidal plan could be considered beautiful or complex; Baz's eyes darken. "Perhaps you're just too daft to understand—"

I get up from my desk and close the distance between us in one stride. I rip the book out of his hands, and throw it onto the ground. It slams onto the carpet with a dull  _ thud!  _ (He's  _ really _ looking at me like I'm a whiny child now.) 

He rises to his feet, glaring down at me with pinched eyebrows. 

"You fucking disaster," he growls—his voice is a low whisper, despite the fact he doesn't really need to be quiet. We're just inches apart, our chests nearly grazing one another's. "I hate you." 

"I hate you," I insist back, forcing just as much malice into my words as he did. Though, I can't help the blush that crawls up my neck. There's so little space between us—I feel his cool breath on my forehead, I can see every vein that pops from his clenched jaw, I can smell the hints of his aftershave. 

I'm not usually so close to him. In our bedroom, we keep to our sides, not even brushing against one another when switch turns in the loo. I only ever really touch him when we fight—but that's fists to face, elbows to guts, shins to calves. 

This is different—intimate. Though, we're not exactly touching right now—we're decidedly  _ not  _ touching. But just barely. Just so. 

The proximity is intoxicating. I think I'm going to punch him, I think I'm going to break his nose, I think I'm going to spill his blood on the carpet floor. 

Then I catch his eyes. His grey eyes—except no, that's not quite right. His eyes aren't just grey; there's a mix of dark blues and dark greens. Deep, bottomless, wild—like the sea during a storm. 

I lift my hand, and I think I'm going to punch him. I really do. 

Instead, I take him by the back of the neck and snog him. 

**Baz**

My mind goes blank the moment Simon Snow puts his lips on mine. 

**Simon**

He takes a moment to respond, and I fear I've made a grave error—a mistake that might literally cost me my life. Or at the very least my straight, unbroken nose. 

But then he kisses back. 

Fuck, does he kiss back. 

He grabs me around the waist, pulling us together by our hips. It's messy—wet and slightly off-beat with some teeth to it—but regardless, it's setting me on fire. I feel this kiss in every bone in my body—it resonates in every cell and atom and particle inside of me, all of me's alight with Baz's wandering hands. It's like he's trying to touch every part of me, reach everywhere, mark me so completely and irreversibly with the memory of his fingertips. 

I think I'm doing the same thing with my nails—scratching at the back of his neck, down his back, to his forearms when I push him back into the study carrel. His arse hits the table and he sits down slightly, and—without thinking it through—I crawl into his lap. He lets out a quiet, lusty moan at that, and I grin, breaking our kiss. 

I want to hear that noise again, so I move my lips to his throat. 

He likes that, he  _ definitely _ likes that. He likes that so much, in fact that— 

Oh fuck. 

Baz is getting  _ hard.  _

**Baz**

He realises it the same moment I do. 

I wrench myself away from him. I'm humiliated by how heavily I'm breathing right now—even though Snow's breathing just as loudly. 

"I'm just—I'm going to—I don't—" Fuck. Fuck fuck  _ fuck.  _ I grab my bookbag and sling it over my shoulder, not even bothering to grab all of my coloured pens or Shakespeare's Sonnets laid abandoned on the ground. 

Snow is gaping at me with his mouth wide open—looking for his words, no doubt. I don't give him the chance to find them; I damn near sprint out of the library. 

I curse myself the whole way down the Catacombs, for every moment of that wonderful and terrible kiss. For how eager I was, for how hard I was, for how bad I wanted it, for the fact that I now know that Simon Snow tastes like cherries and desire— 

I am never letting that happen again. 

**Simon**

I'm going to make that happen again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let the games begin! If you want more, go read the Love Game series—seriously, you won't regret it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know your opinions on Shakespeare (bad) and Vine (good)! & come find me on [Tumblr](https://annabellelux.tumblr.com) if you want more of my nonsense.


End file.
